


Worth Celebrating

by fhartz91



Series: Creature of the October Night Sky [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dragon Hunter Blaine, Dragon Hybrid Kurt, M/M, Romance, Soulmates, mention of drug use, modern day AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 09:27:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10694175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/fhartz91
Summary: Sitting on the fire escape of Blaine's rundown apartment, Kurt and Blaine play a one-sided game of 20 questions.





	Worth Celebrating

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunshineoptimismandangels](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshineoptimismandangels/gifts).



> Okay, so this is going to need a little bit of explaining. This is a one-shot I wrote for a story that's not up yet - Creature of the October Night Sky - that I'm writing for sunshineoptimismandangels. The main story isn't done, but I finished this for her birthday, which isn't for a week now, but I've been online so sporadically, I didn't want to miss it. So, here you are, love. Happy early b'day.

“So, I checked on the roast,” Blaine says, climbing through the bedroom window and onto the fire escape. Kurt, sitting in the far left corner, doesn’t watch Blaine approach, too busy eyeing cars passing by on the street, and watching the sun sink down to the horizon. “It should be ready in about an hour.”

“We could have just eaten it raw, you know.”

“ _You_ could have. Your internal temperature is, like, a thousand degrees.” Blaine sits on the metal grate at a respectful distance so as not to get in the way of Kurt’s wings, in case he wants to stretch them out, warm them in the rays of the setting sun. More than likely, he won’t. He doesn’t like the attention it attracts. But Blaine likes Kurt to know that it’s an option. “As for me, I’d prefer not to get salmonella. It would kill the next three days.”

“To each his own,” Kurt mutters. “I suppose it _is_ hard to enjoy getting stoned while you’re puking your guts out.” And that’s the last Kurt says about it. Blaine goes silent, too, but Kurt knows better by now than to think that’s his final word on the matter. Blaine Anderson rarely drops a subject easily, which means he must have a million comments he’s keeping to himself. But _why’s_ the question. And that answer is simple.

There’s something else, something more pressing, on his mind.

And from his darting eyes and twitching lips, Kurt has a feeling he knows what it is.

Kurt doesn’t divert his attention away from the street, keeping an eye peeled for anyone who may be stupid enough to hold a grudge trying to hunt them down. But from the corner of his eye, he catches Blaine watching him - _intently_. Blaine’s body vibrates with excited energy, subtle shifting movements of his legs and hips shaking the metal grate, and Kurt sighs a long, aggravated sigh.

“If there’s something you want to ask me, just ask me,” he says.

Blaine’s eyes widen, but he immediately shakes his head. “No. That’s alright. I don’t want to bother you.”

“Too late.”

“Harsh.”

“Sorry, but it’s truth time.”

“I promised when you moved in that I wouldn’t badger you.”

Kurt chuckles. _Moved in_ is one way of putting it. Once Kurt crossed Blaine’s threshold, unwillingly though it was, he became trapped there, unable to leave without Blaine’s permission. Even though they’ve overcome that obstacle, Kurt still has a mild objection to the use of the phrase _moved in_. “Look, we have an hour till dinner. You might as well ask me something.”

“Fine,” Blaine concedes, nearly biting straight through his lower lip in an attempt to contain his glee. “But only if you don’t mind.”

“I do, but ask anyway.

“Alright. Favorite color?” Blaine wraps his arms around his knees and hugs them to keep from touching Kurt. Kurt’s not used to casual contact. He doesn’t like being touched. Bitten, punched, fucked, yes - all on his own terms. But anything lighter or less deliberate – the brush of the fingertips against his arm, for example – sets him on edge.

“Don’t have one,” Kurt says, pulling a cigarette from his shirt pocket and lighting it off his tongue.

“Favorite book?”

Kurt shakes his head. “I don’t read.” He takes a puff, then blows smoke, along with a lick of orange flame, out his nose.

“Favorite song?”

“Anything off the album _Workingman’s Dead_.”

“When’s your birthday?”

Kurt snarls, the corner of his lip curling over teeth sharper than steak knives. “I don’t _do_ birthdays.”

“Come on. Everyone has a birthday.” Blaine, rocking on his hips, comes dangerously close to bumping Kurt’s shoulder. He stops midway, his face twisting with a comical look of fear. Trying to be stealthy, he pulls himself upright entirely using his abs, which cramp in protest. But Kurt sees. He doesn’t laugh, but in his head, he thinks Blaine’s predicament is hilarious.

“I didn’t say I didn’t _have_ a birthday,” Kurt corrects. “I just don’t _celebrate_ it.”

“Why?”

Kurt shrugs his shoulders, adjusts his leathery wings. “Because, to be honest, the day I was born had nothing to do with me. I didn’t ask to be born. I don’t remember the event. Why should I celebrate what is essentially the day my mother shoved me out of her vagina?”

Blaine makes a face. “Ugh! _There’s_ an image.”

“I’d rather celebrate an accomplishment I had something to do with, like the day I cure cancer, or when I solve the Birch and Swinnerton-Dyer conjecture, neither of which I’ve done yet.”

Blaine is sure that tackling both of those things requires a lab, specialized equipment, or, at the very least, a pen and paper, which he’s never seen Kurt use. But Blaine doesn’t know all the ways of dragons, or even dragon hybrids, yet. Maybe Kurt has some special way of studying complex anomalies that Blaine could never fathom – a sixth sense or a second sight. Maybe he can analyze complex microscopic deviations in his head, or see numbers using only his mind.

“Are you working on any of that?” Blaine asks, prepared to be impressed.

“No,” Kurt says, blowing smoke out of the corners of his mouth.

“So, what _do_ you celebrate?”

“Nothing yet.”

“Well, is there something that you might want to celebrate in the future? Arbor Day? Christmas? Kwanzaa?”

“Yeah.” Kurt takes a drag, and blows a smoke ring into the air. He follows it up with a smaller ring that travels cleanly through the center of the first, then floats in stasis when it reaches the other side. “ _Us_ ,” he admits through clenched teeth. It actually looks excruciating for him.

“Really?” Blaine asks too sweetly, a bit naïve. Kurt rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, really.” Kurt takes one last drag off his cigarette, then flicks the butt through the bars, down to the sidewalk below. “But I still have a rep in this city, so if you ever tell anyone, I’ll rip off your dick and feed it to you.”

Blaine startles. That’s a tad more violent than Kurt’s vagina mention, but surprisingly less vulgar. At least Blaine knows Kurt cares. He nods, turning his attention to the street and the cars and the sunset, taking an interest in the things that have Kurt’s focus and joining him in that. “That’s fair.”


End file.
